Vicki's Work of Heart by Rosie Dean

seem too impressed. ‘Did you dance?’
    ‘Oh boy, yes. We also had a horse race – of sorts.’
    ‘You did?’ he looked puzzled.
    ‘How do I explain? The men were the horses, the women were the riders. We raced through the car-park – piggy-back style.’ I omitted to say there was a grainy video of me on Youtube, frantically caning one of the PE teachers with my whip handle as we crashed across the finishing line. I’m not absolutely sure it didn’t unearth some deep-seated masochistic tendency in my mount, since I swear his eyes shone quite brilliantly as he thanked me for the best ride of his life. You can hear him say so on Youtube…anonymously, of course. We’re all responsible teachers who would never be caught doing anything unseemly after dark.
    ‘So, the end of term was when – July?’
    I knew what he was getting at. It was months ago. ‘That was the most fun I’ve had recently. I’ve been busy preparing to come here. Although, I did treat myself to a weekend watching the entire boxed set of Sex and the City and eating my way through a large tub of Chunky Monkey ice cream. How about you?’ I asked before he had chance to comment.
    He smiled. ‘Fun? Do you know what? I’ve probably not had that much fun myself, lately.’
    ‘Think.’
    He sat back in his chair. ‘That would probably be when I kayaked down the river Tarn. Four of us went on a weekend away. I think you English would call it a stag weekend.’ He nodded and smiled at the memory.
    ‘When was that?’
    He grinned. ‘June.’
    ‘You’re right, Christophe, we need to get out more.’ I stood up and reached for his empty dish. ‘I’ll go and fix the main course.’
    From the kitchen, I could just make out him talking on the phone again. I figured he was calling his artist friend, until a loud and explosive stream of invective made Boz whimper in disapproval. By the time the main course was ready, all was quiet again. I entered the dining room cautiously but he was sitting with his elbows on the table, resting his chin on his fists and staring out of the window. I hovered. ‘Are you ready for your main course? It’s pork in apricot sauce with sage and onion rice.’
    He sat back, and I could see from the set of his jaw that all sense of fun was forgotten. ‘Absolutely. Thank you.’
    He ate quickly, deep in thought while I wondered what was happening in his world to wind him up so. Should I distract him with conversation or leave him alone? It was hard to judge. You could practically twang the tension with a fingernail. Finally he spoke.
    ‘You have no meat.’
    I took my focus from the vegetable risotto on my plate and looked up at him. ‘No. I’m a vegetarian.’
    ‘Why is that?’
    ‘Well…I think I was always a vegetarian at heart. I knew I could never actually take another creature’s life just to satisfy my hunger; especially when there are so many other options. But I once heard someone explain he was a vegetarian because “animals are your friends, and you don’t eat your friends”.’ I shrugged. ‘Made sense to me.’
    Christophe stared at me like he was assessing my sanity.
    I continued, ‘Well, I was stroking one of our dogs at the time, and I thought – he’s right. So I haven’t eaten meat since.’
    Christophe repeated the phrase: ‘You don’t eat your friends.’ And then he laughed. ‘I would love to hear what Monsieur Bonnet would say about that – or Monsieur Laurent.’
    ‘Let me guess – farmers?’
    He nodded slowly. ‘So, do you offer fish the same respect?’
    I wrinkled my nose. ‘Not exactly.’
    ‘You do not consider them your friends, then?’
    ‘Well…I know it is a tiny bit hypocritical, but I’m not sure there’s much history of mankind bonding with fish. I’m not saying they don’t have feelings or emotions – it’s just not very easy to spot them.’
    He smiled and studied me for a moment. It was that staring thing again. ‘Vicki. Do you know what this meal is